


Lend A Hand

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Nerves, implied trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Phasma shows him a thing or two.





	Lend A Hand

Kylo isn’t sure about the whole ‘sex’ thing. It’s - it’s nothing personal, or perhaps it can only be personal. It’s - there’s been reasons - and as much as he _really_ enjoys spending personal time with Phasma, and he’s _really really_ enjoyed the kissing, he’s not so sure he can take the next steps or not.

Not for himself, anyway. 

The last time they got very kissy, she’d moved to straddle his thigh. Rubbed her crotch all over his leg, and he’d - after a heavy gulp - grabbed her over the top of her clothing. 

It had been weird and confusing, and he isn’t sure to this day if she came or not (so she probably didn’t, the little voice says), but she’d enjoyed it, and he had, right until she tried to touch _him_ below the belt, and he’d frozen and ruined everything.

Which was… not his finest moment, if he’s honest with himself.

But until then it had been fine.

Now he’s worried, though. What if he keeps doing that? Keeps flinching, or freezing, or freaking out, or having weird… unwelcome images, or laughing inappropriately, or not being able to please her? What if she needs (or very badly wants) sexual intimacy and he can’t? Will she become too disappointed? Will she resent him? Will he resent her?

“I want to show you how good it can feel,” she says, as her hand strokes inside his knee. “But if you don’t climax, it isn’t a problem.”  


“…well, isn’t that the definition of… dysfunction?”  


“Only if you’re trying to conceive a child in the most primitive sense. It isn’t about the end result, not really…”  


“But you–”  


“This isn’t about me, tonight. It’s about you. I want to touch you, if you’ll let me. Maybe after you’ll want to touch me, or another night…”  


“Tomorrow,” he promises. “If you… if I don’t tonight, tomorrow.”  


He thinks touching her will be okay. If she can touch him and not expect it back, then he can touch her, without her needing it in return, either. He’s not sure why he never considered that an option before, but now he has, it feels… safer. It feels… better. Knowing they don’t have to work as one unit, knowing there isn’t a necessity for both of them to ‘complete’ for it to be considered a success. A weight lifts from him, and he lets his knees slide apart, showing his eagerness.

The kisses continue, and he feels the heavy surety of her palm stroking over the front of his crotch. His mind does… skitter a little, but the kisses and the hand in his hair keep him grounded. He curls fingers around her neck, and strokes his own hand over her side, up to her breast, holding on. 

 _It doesn’t matter if you don’t climax. It doesn’t matter if you don’t touch me back. All that matters is you enjoy the touching._ Her reminders echo in his mind, and he bows to her superior knowledge on this. 

Her fingers pluck at fastenings, easing them open. He’s still mostly dressed, though his cowl and overcloak are off. The suspender belts over his shoulders seem oppressive for once, and he breathes heavily as her fingers make contact with his belly low down, combing gently at the curls of his groin. 

“Remember, if you want me to slow, or stop…”  


“It’s… okay so far,” he says, but the knowledge that she _would_ definitely helps.  


Her fingers feel around the shape of him through his underwear, and it’s - it’s so _intense._ He’s managed to jerk off a few times, but often it’s felt wrong or spoiled, somehow. He mostly spends his life trying to ignore it, but right now… now he wants to change that. He wants to - he wants to bring it into… _okay_. Into what’s good. He wants to be… whole, or as whole as he can be. He’s not sure what that looks like, and maybe it will change on a daily basis. But he feels her thumb slide over the head and he knows it’s _intense_ , and it’s even more intense because it is _her_.

It is _Phasma_ , who he trusts. Who he trusts intimately well. Who has seen his face without the mask - physical or otherwise - and who he’s allowed to see his _fear_. His… shame, his guilt, his… terror at what this could mean. It’s just sex (’just’), but it’s not. It’s so much more, or it is to him. Perhaps some just like the contact, the bits rubbing, but inside of him it feels different. There’s the… memories, and then there’s the parts where… where… it’s not quite worked so far, and now he feels it stirring, like it wants to. 

He gasps when her fingertips graze over the soft skin below the fabric, and whimpers into her neck as she curls her fist around him.

“Is it too much?” she asks, her fingers lightly tapping, not stroking, just… drumming very softly.  


“N-no.”  


“If it is, tell me. I don’t know your limits like you do.”  


Neither does he, but he takes her point that he’ll know them before she does, and he nods. 

Her hand twists and turns, learning the feel, the bumps, the twitches, the sounds. Kylo is struck by how different it is when someone else makes the decisions, when you can’t anticipate, or feel it in your own hand. He sees the look of concentration on her face, and he bites his lip.

She wants this. For him. She wants him to feel good. For him. 

Phasma’s thumb glides under the head, and her palm works him faster, firmer. His balls feel achingly heavy, his prick tingling from top to bottom, and he’s worried: is coming soon a show of appreciation for a job well done, or is it a lack of talent at keeping going? Is he supposed to do anything, or say anythhh—– _aaaaahhhhh._

The stroking gets harder, and he whimpers, holding her shoulders, desperate for her to keep going. He’s going to climax, there’s no doubt about it, and - and it - it feels - it’s -

“I–”  


“Give it to me,” she says, and slips to her knees in front of him. Her hand angles his shaft towards her face, and he worries for a minute that she’s going to swallow him, but she tugs the spurts of pleasure out, splattering her cheeks and throat.   


Kylo’s eyes focus somewhere out in space for a moment, his chest pounding hard. It’s long, long moments before he’s anywhere _near_ coherent enough to thank her, and then she’s wiping her face clean on the back of her hand, lapping the seed up with a flash of pink tongue. 

It felt… incredible. And he hardly freaked out at all. 

“If you like, we can just kiss on the bed,” she offers.   


“…what… what if I want to… for you?”  


“I’d very much like that,” Phasma grins. “When you don’t look ready to pass out.”  


Whoops. It was too good, she can’t hold that against him. Or so he’s sure, anyway.


End file.
